


Still your protégé

by DoctorBilly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Death Saints and the Supernatural prompt fic, Gen, SFPAC, Zombie Character, ghost character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5038174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Billy work on a case</p>
<p>Yes, there is implied major character death. Let me know if you think I should tag it. </p>
<p>Written for the SFPAC Death, Saints and the Supernatural pick and choose prompt </p>
<p>Characters: Sherlock Holmes; Billy Wiggins<br/>Species: Ghost; Zombie<br/>Place: London</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still your protégé

"This is intolerable!"

Sherlock Holmes slams the beaker down on the counter. The liquid inside slops over, puddling on the counter and dripping onto the floor.

"That's the third time this week. I dunno why you don't just leave it out, Shezz." Billy Wiggins leans over to look into the cup, maintaining his nonchalant perch on the countertop carefully. An eyeball bobs gently, its grey-green iris staring accusingly up. "Sooner or later it's going to drop into acid, or something caustic. You won't be able to use it then. Better to put it somewhere safe while you're working." He giggles. "Or wear goggles…"

"Hmph. It's all right for you. At least bits of you don't drop off at inconvenient moments."

"At least you've _got_ bits to drop off."

Billy loses concentration for a moment and sinks gently into the countertop. Sherlock sighs.

"Bickering will not get us anywhere, Wiggins."

Billy nods his agreement. He is only pleased that in the aftermath of their joint chemical misadventure they have each other for company. At least there is _someone_ who can see and hear him. He frowns.

"How come we didn't both end up the same way?"

"You're asking why you are a ghost and I am a…"

"Zombie. Yeah. How come, d'you think?"

"I don't know. I have been too busy working on dealing with the effect on me to give time to considering the cause."

"The effect on _you_?"

"Well, yes. I cannot make any difference to the effect on _you_."

Billy shrugs, sinking deeper into the countertop. He scowls and floats himself up, settles an inch or so above the surface, cross-legged.

"I suppose you're right. Any luck yet?"

"Perhaps. Does the eyeball look a little firmer to you?"

"Maybe. Are you going to bath in the stuff? It stinks…"

"Yes. That could be a problem."

"Really? More than the smell of rot?"

Sherlock shudders. A lock of hair falls through Billy's knee to land on the countertop.

"Obviously not. But I want to stabilise my flesh before…"

"Worried about losing your curls? Wear your hat."

"I do not like the hat. I think perhaps the smell could be neutralised if I add…"

Sherlock's speech tails off. Billy sighs. He recognises when his friend disappears into his mind palace, knows he'll be left to his own devices for a while. He slips through the wall and floats along the street, closing his eyes. He can move fast, he has discovered. He only needs to think of a destination and he is there, more or less. He opens his eyes and looks up at the wall of glass in front of him.

"Fifth floor, was it? Or fourth…"

He floats up to the fourth storey and phases himself through the thick, blue-tinted glass.

"Bugger. Wrong division".

He continues up, emerging through the floor of the Homicide and Serious Crimes Command, where a briefing is going on. Billy listens in shamelessly. He has an excellent memory, eidetic for faces and places. He can recall entire pages of reports, and can mimic voices very well. Sherlock will find the details of this briefing very useful. Billy sighs silently when someone mentions a person of interest living in Epping, on the edge of the Forest. Sherlock will need to follow that up himself. The briefing ends. An officer walks through him as he leaves the room. Billy shudders. He hates it when people do that. He concentrates on Baker Street, closes his eyes and he is there, floating gently in Sherlock's kitchen.

"Where have you been?"

"Went to the Yard. There's a suspect. It was weird, listening to them discussing my own murder. What do you think they'd say if they knew it was a double?"

Sherlock frowns.

"Better they don't know. Lestrade thinks I have a skin disease brought on by contact with the spillage…"

Billy laughs.

"Good job you always looked pasty."

Sherlock pouts, indignantly.

"I am _not_ pasty. I have a Byronic pallor…"

"If you say so. You'll need to follow it up, anyway. He lives in Epping Forest. I can't go there."

"It is very annoying that you are restricted to Inner London…"

"I didn't ask to be. Wear your hat. And gloves. Don't want any fingers dropping off…"

Sherlock scowls, but can't sustain it. He smiles at the ridiculousness of the situation.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to inherit my stuff, Billy."

Billy laughs.

"Or your job. Not really fair to die and _still_ keep it all."

Sherlock grins. It is terrifying.

"I am the only consulting detective, and always will be.  I hope you will continue to work for me. Your new… abilities are proving most useful."

"I'm still your protégé then?"

"Protégé implies a degree of protection." Sherlock smiles sadly. "I am afraid I failed you there, Wiggins."

"Yeah, well. Can't win 'em all, I suppose. Just make sure the Yarders get the geezer that killed us."

Sherlock nods.

"I will. You have my word on that."


End file.
